


Sex and the Battlefield

by JayPendragon



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Military Backstory, POV Frank Castle, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Pre-Canon, and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayPendragon/pseuds/JayPendragon
Summary: Things between them change after that night.(Set pre-series. Written for the wonderful Blushnik.)
Relationships: Frank Castle/Billy Russo
Comments: 14
Kudos: 96





	Sex and the Battlefield

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deaded-blush (deaded_blush)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deaded_blush/gifts).



> The lovely deaded_blush commissioned me to write some Frank/Billy porn with plot, and I had a blast with this. A nice change from my current WIP and, drum-roll please, my FIRST commission ever!
> 
> Set pre-series, canon-compliant… and probably full of misused military jargon. I have no regrets.

The bullet misses him by inches. 

Frank ducks and rolls to find cover where he can drop his mag, reload, aim, fire. 

He only pauses long enough to hear the gurgling shout before he’s moving on, around another corner, up another staircase. Three more hostiles go down in the hallway, then two in the first room. 

Frank keeps his shots measured. Ammo’s running low. His heart beats a steady rhythm against his chest. 

By the time he emerges back into the hallway, it has filled up — 

“Cover!” echoes from above. 

Frank’s finger immediately pulls the trigger. 

They don’t reconvene until two more floors have been cleared. Russo’s breathing hard and his side is caked with blood. 

“You hurt?” Frank asks. 

Russo shakes his head. He still got that cocky smirk on, even after hours of fighting their way through this hellhole of a place. They started in the basement with nothing but their knives and a refusal to give up. Looks like they might make it outta here alive after all. 

“Let’s go,” Russo says, and leads the way. 

Frank never really warmed up to the guy during their first tour. Compared to Russo, Frank always felt like an overgrown oaf, nothing but brute strength and hawk-like aim. But Russo... Russo’s like a cat, with an effortless elegance he brings to everything, from tactical planning to disassembling an AK-47. 

Or climbing stairs, for that matter. 

Frank follows, almost as silently, then starts shooting the split second he sees Russo’s knees bend. 

Turns out, they make a pretty good team. 

“Nah,” Billy says, after they’ve contacted their unit and bunkered down on the rooftop for extraction, “we make a great team, Frankie boy.” 

The sun’s peeking out from the horizon but it’s still ice cold. He can see it seeping into Billy’s bones – cause he’s no longer Russo, no way around it – and shrugs out of his jacket. He doesn’t notice the blood-soaked sleeve from where he stabbed a hostile at close range before holding out, but well, ain’t like any of them are queasy.

Billy gives him a long look. 

In the dawning light of day, Frank notices how insanely dark his eyes are. And how impressive his glare is.

“Hey,” Frank says, “I ain’t the one who’s always sleeping with his cap on.”

“Well, not everyone’s got a head as thick as yours.” Billy sounds gruff, but he takes the jacket and drapes it over his shoulders. 

As he closes his eyes, Frank thinks he hears a mumbled thanks. 

*

Things change after that night. 

Having Russo’s bunk next to his ain’t a nuisance anymore. Still makes him feel stupid, especially when Billy goes on about whatever book he’s reading at the moment or talking business with Curt who’s the only one Billy doesn’t run circles around among their unit, mentally speaking. They all know it, and Frank spots the proud glint in Billy’s eyes whenever anyone comments on it, but Billy’s never mean about it. Even starts teaching Frank chess on slow days, no matter how fucking boring it’s gotta be for him to go up against his predictable moves.

Even Frank’s jealousy evaporates. Used to be that he’d watch Russo during training and loathe him for his lithe physique and cat-like movements. Tried to emulate his maneuvers, copy his footwork. Then he spent a night fighting side-by-side with the guy, and ever since, Frank sees in himself what his superiors kept telling him. 

Nowadays, Billy feels more and more like an extension of himself than a fellow soldier.

On the battlefield, that is. 

Off it, they’re still two men with very different lives. 

The table erupts into cheers when Billy returns, cheeks flushed and smiling. He’s a smug bastard sometimes, especially when he’s the first to score on a night out at the closest watering hole their unit could find. Doesn’t even seem to mind having to pay for the next round. 

“She as flexible off the dance floor as on, eh?” Martinez asks, more for sport than out of interest. 

Billy replies with a smirk and silence, like always. 

Frank thinks back to the last time he had sex with his wife. Shit, has it really been over five months already? They had to be quiet cause Lisa’s a light sleeper, but it was their last chance before he’d be deployed again, so they did what they could. No chance for dirty words, just touch and pressure and heat. 

“Deep thoughts?” Curtis asks, pulling him back into the present. 

“What, Frank? He’d _never_.” Billy’s grin is wide and open, unwavering even as Frank gives a playful shove. 

“Watch it, jackass. Or I’ma tell the next lady you set your eyes on how full of shit you are.”

“Doubt they care about my character, Frankie.”

“Works out well for you, then. Wouldn’t ever get anyone without that pretty face o’ yours.”

He fully expects to get his ass handed to him, right then and there, cause no one’s ever called Billy ‘pretty’ and walked away smiling. 

Yet tonight, Billy merely lifts an eyebrow. “Oh, you think I’m pretty?”

Frank can’t quite place his tone. There’s a playful edge, sure. But also something darker. 

He snorts. “Like you don’t know it.”

“Just surprised you noticed.” 

“Good surprised, or bad surprised?”

Billy cocks his head slightly, as if contemplating the question. Frank takes another swig of his beer in the meantime. To Curt and Martinez and the others, it probably looks like harmless banter – otherwise they’d be a lot more tense right now – but they don’t know Billy like Frank does. 

Unfortunately (or fortunately), his question goes unanswered cause some rookie punks on their first tour decide to start a brawl a bunch o’ tables over, and their group’s gotta intervene.

Frank’s prepared to forget all about it, chalk it up to morons being morons, but after they’ve escorted all drunken brothers and sisters back to camp and, in Frank’s case, manhandled them into their cot, he feels those dark eyes on him again.

Now it’s his turn to cock an eyebrow. 

“Positive,” is all Billy says before he leaves. But it’s enough. 

Enough to make Frank wonder. His eyes stray towards Billy more often than usual over the course of the next few weeks, whenever he can allow himself a moment of respite. Their eyes meet over breakfast, between drills. As they shoulder their rifles before a mission. Frank lets his gaze linger, gentle and approving, cause he noticed the faint flush it brings to Billy’s cheeks. 

More often than not, he thinks back to that talk with Maria, the one about needs and wants and the difference between commitment and taking the edge off. He loved her even more after that, which he thought impossible.

Billy’s gotta know, somehow. He’s smart. He watched Frank fend off advances more than once. The glint in his eyes whenever he catches Frank looking speaks volumes. Frank’s good at reading people – he’s gotta be, or he’d long since ended up in a body bag. 

The tension between them builds unimpeded, though, helped by their rigorous schedule and constant presence of superiors and fellow soldiers. 

Maybe, Frank thinks, it’s just not meant to be. 

Obviously he failed to reckon with the variable that is Billy Russo. 

“The success of the entire mission depends on you, understood? You fail, the whole operation goes up in smoke, and I’ll get angry calls from our pals at the agency. You want that, Russo? Castle?”

“No, sir,” Frank says, which apparently satisfies their commander. 

It’s a tricky bit of sharpshooting, a two-men job that requires coordination and precision. Frank settles onto his stomach a few feet away from Billy on the roof of a ruined building, breath calm and steady. Neither of them speaks; they got a plan. 

Part of it includes a timeframe of three hours for them to fire their shots before radioing the confirmation, then hiking down to where evac’s scheduled to pick them up again.

Their targets appear forty-three minutes in. 

Frank knows better than to glance at his partner and throw his focus. He traces the woman with his visor, sees her part ways with her husband. Several minutes later, he hears Billy’s exhale. 

Frank confirms with one of his own. 

Breathes in… and fires. 

Mission accomplished. 

Frank matches Billy’s grin when they pack up. Rather than grab their radio, however, Billy stretches some more, rolling his shoulders and twisting his neck. 

Frank watches. Waits. 

“We got time,” Billy says. 

“Hm.”

“No one’s gonna miss us for another hour or two.”

“What’re you saying, Billy?”

Rather than reply, he shoulders his own bag and heads for the stairwell. Frank follows, maneuvers around the debris and rubble until they’re on the ground floor, where cover’s good and the sunlight less glaring. Billy sets his rifle down, detaches the radio from his belt. His lips curl as he turns to face Frank again, like he does after his turn at chess. 

The tension is back, amped to max. Frank can feel it sizzling in the air between them.

His move.

Frank takes his time to shed his kit. He keeps his knife and the gun, cause he knows better than to trust this block is truly abandoned. Stones crunch under his foot when he takes a step in Billy’s direction. 

Up close, his eyes are even darker. 

“I saw you, Frank,” Billy says. “I saw you watching me.”

“You complaining?” 

Billy’s lips twitch. Frank traces the movement with his eyes. 

Another step brings him toe-to-tow with Billy, right into his space. He smells of sweat and blood and desert dust. 

“I know what I want,” Billy says. 

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

Frank would have expected their first kiss to be frantic, rushed. Full of need. Instead it’s a soft press of lips against his own, a tease and a taste at the same time. Billy follows without hesitation when his hand comes up to pull him closer. 

It’s been years since Frank felt the hard lines of a man against him, and he doubts he could have imagined anything better than this. His free hand winds around Billy and traces the muscled outline of his back, so obvious even under the fabric of their fatigues, then dips lower until he cups the swell of Billy’s ass. 

Things become a bit frantic, then, as they’re both using the friction of the other to get fully hard.

“Fuck, you taste so good.”

It simply slips out, between kisses. Frank’s been doing so well with keeping his mouth shut, but his self-control only goes so far when there’s fingers digging into his shoulders.

He doesn’t miss the way Billy’s pupils dilate at the praise. 

_Oh yeah_ , Frank thinks. He can work with that. 

He moves in again, though before he can close the distance, Billy twists his body. Frank kisses his neck instead, at least what he can reach above the collar of his uniform. He uses one arm to hold Billy in place, the other strokes a path down his front, over the belt, right to his groin where he maps the lines of Billy’s cock with just the hint of pressure. 

“That what you want,” Frank says. “That what you want, Billy? How? Want me to be gentle with you? Or you want it rough?”

He adds pressure, tightens his grip. Billy’s hips buckle, in search of friction. Frank gives it to him, slow and steady.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Billy,” he whispers, close to Billy’s ear. “Bet you feel amazing no matter what we do… so good… all those women, they don’t get to see this side of you, do they… damn, they’re missing out. Yeah, that’s it…” 

They’ve built a rhythm now, Frank’s hand on Billy’s cock. Every roll of his hips pushes his ass more against Frank’s erection. He’d be content to do just that for the rest of their time here, but Billy obviously has other ideas.

“Reach into my breast pocket,” he says. 

What Frank unearths makes him chuckle: It’s a condom and a mini-pack of lube, both smuggled in from the US judging by the words on the wrapping.

“Damn smart, Russo.”

“Couldn’t rely on you to catch on, could I?” 

Billy’s all bravado and confidence as he turns around, fingers on his belt. Frank pockets the condom and fumbles with the pack of lube while Billy pulls his pants down to mid-thigh, freeing his cock and giving it a few lazy tugs. 

“Like what you see?” Billy challenges. It’s supposed to be rhetorical but Frank can’t help the low moan that escapes him. 

“Damn, you’re something,” he says. “Turn around for me? Oh yeah…” Frank explores the bare skin with his fingers, massaging until he feels Billy relax. “Spread your legs for me? Yeah, just like that…”

Frank’s always enjoyed foreplay; he loves how much he can figure out about someone based on how they respond to certain touches, certain sounds. Billy, he discovers, likes it best when Frank talks, so he does, keeping up a commentary as he works a finger inside, then two. 

“Damn, you take me so well,” Frank says, cause it’s true. “Bet you’re gonna make the sweetest sounds when I –”

Billy’s moan cuts him off. Frank needs to hear it again, and again, so he keeps his focus on Billy’s prostate. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispers. “You ready for more? Ready for my cock?”

“Do it,” Billy gasps, and Frank makes quick work of his belt and zipper with only one hand. He even manages to free his erection without pulling his fingers out of Billy’s ass, could’ve kept going, too, but in favor of speed, he withdraws. 

Billy widens his stance, leans forward and grips the wall. He glances over his shoulder, watches Frank pull the condom down his shaft and use the last of the lube. 

His girth matches the rest of him, so he goes slow. Pushes past the ring of muscles and starts talking when he feels Billy clench around him. 

“Oh yeah, fuck, just like that… Damn, you’re doing so good, Billy, you got no idea… That’s it, yeah…”

It takes a huge amount of his self-control to not slam right in, but then finally he’s balls-deep inside. He moves his hands from Billy’s hips up to his torso, slow and deliberate, as they both adjust. 

He feels Billy’s nod rather than sees it, but he doesn’t rush. Now that he’s here, he wants to make the most of this, draw this out, and Billy doesn’t seem in any hurry either. He matches Franks lazy rhythm with soft rolls of his hips and contented sighs, eyes closed, cheeks flushed.

The amount of trust he puts on Frank is staggering. 

Maybe that’s what finally breaks his restraint. 

His thrusts grow deeper, his movements quicker. Sighs turn into gasps turn into whispered requests, _harder, faster,_ and Frank obliges until he feels that tell-tale heat at the base of his spine. 

“Bet you’re stunning when you come,” he says, tightening his grip on Billy’s hips. “Fuck, I wanna see. You gonna let me see? Gonna turn around for me?”

Billy’s shoulders tense for a split-second and Frank fears he screwed this up, but a moment later Billy slows their movements until Frank can pull out without hurting him.

“On your back, Frank,” Billy says, and damn, he should’ve asked ages ago. Billy eyes are wide with lust and pleasure, lips still red from kissing, and even now he’s so fucking graceful when he straddles Frank despite the pants still around his ankles. 

They’re kissing again, and then the tight heat is back, but it’s different now. Billy sets the pace, shifts his hips, clenches his muscles. 

“You feel so fucking good, you got no idea,” Frank says, and keeps going, he thinks. The world starts blurring at the edges, but Billy remains in focus. 

Frank wraps a hand around his leaking cock, rubs the slit and loves how Billy’s rhythm falters. They find a new one, Billy fucking Frank’s fist while riding him at a ruthless pace, one that robs them both of breath. 

Orgasm hits Frank first; his movements still after one final thrust. He keeps his eyes open through most of it, though, cause he wants Billy to see, to understand what he did to Frank even if his lungs can’t spare the air it takes to say it. 

Billy spills himself all over Frank’s fist and shirt mere moments later. 

*

Frank’s still on the ground when Billy tucks himself back in. He can’t look away, as much as he tries. 

Billy, of course, catches his gaze. Arches an eyebrow. 

“You’re incredible.”

He says it without fear or doubt. He wants Billy to know he’s sincere, doesn’t want him to think what happened between them meant nothing to him. 

Surprise is a new look on Billy. Once again, it hits Frank how much the guy is trusting him with, how vulnerable he’s letting himself be. Frank ain’t the kinda person to take that lightly. Billy might not know that yet… but he’s smart. 

They’re silent while they get ready to move out. Billy radios in, confirms their kills, gives the green light. They set out towards their evac point, wait for their lift, get back to base, give a quick report. 

Their commander sends them off to wash and sleep with a satisfied nod. 

Frank heads to the showers first, the room empty at this time of day. Turns on the water, lets it warm up and seep into his skin. 

Billy appears, as silent as always, at the shower head next to him. Frank sweeps the room, but he already knows no one’s watching. 

He takes a step back in invitation. Billy regards him, apprehension fading from his eyes, and then he’s there, fully bare, scars and bruises and all. 

Frank lifts a hand to Billy’s face. Cups his jaw. Caresses his cheek. Billy lets him, and that’s gotta be the sweetest thing Frank’s ever seen. 

*

Things change again, after that. 

No one else notices, Frank doesn’t think, cause yeah, most of it’s in the subtext. A lingering gaze here, the hint of a smile there. 

Five days before the end of their tour, everyone’s high on future plans – everyone except Billy. 

“No one’s waiting for me,” he admits eventually, so low that only Frank can hear. “Orphan’s lot in life, you know.”

Sounds like he’s quoting from somewhere, but Frank doesn’t give a shit. 

“Guess you’re coming home with me, then,” he says. He keeps his tone level, his expression neutral.

Billy snorts. “Sure I am, Frankieboy.”

“We got the room. Lisa’s a sweetheart, you’ll like her. Gotta keep up my chess lessons; don’t wanna lose my edge.”

There’s a long silence. Billy, usually so quick to make up his mind, seems to have trouble processing. 

“I ain’t messing with you, buddy,” Frank says.

“What about your wife?”

“Maria won’t mind.”

He doesn’t get an answer that night, nor does he expect one. He doesn’t raise the issue until they’ve touched down outside New York.

“She’s picking us up,” he says. “She’s a hugger, so better brace yourself.”

Billy’s silence would worry him if he didn’t know the guy so well by now. Frank could’ve spent hours talking himself sore and it wouldn’t have made a difference. Billy’s a man of action – he’s gotta see. 

Maria is there, like she promised, Lisa’s hand clutched in hers. They hug, then Lisa is clinging to his neck and he cuddles her with a delighted shout. 

“You must be Billy,” Maria says. Frank can hear the smile in her voice. “Welcome to the family.”

Frank misses Billy’s immediate reaction. Yet when their gazes meet, Billy’s eyes are dancing. 

“Thanks,” he says. And that’s that.

**Author's Note:**

> The end. 
> 
> ... unless [deaded_blush/Blushnik](https://twitter.com/blushnik/status/1263046839537995777/photo/1) ever asks for a sequel :)  
> (Be sure to check out her Frank/Billy fanart in the link!)


End file.
